The Canterbury Tales, and Other Poems Part 107

84. It will be remembered that, at the beginning of the first book, Cressida is introduced to us as a widow.

85. Diomede is called "sudden," for the unexpectedness of his a.s.sault on Cressida's heart -- or, perhaps, for the abrupt abandonment of his indifference to love.

86. Penscel: a pennon or pendant; French, "penoncel." It was the custom in chivalric times for a knight to wear, on days of tournament or in battle, some such token of his lady's favour, or badge of his service to her.

87. She has been told that Troilus is deceiving her.

88. The Roman kalends were the first day of the month, when a change of weather was usually expected.

89. Maker, and making, words used in the Middle Ages to signify the composer and the composition of poetry, correspond exactly with the Greek "poietes" and "poiema," from "poieo," I make.

90. My rather speech: my earlier, former subject; "rather" is the cormparative of the old adjective "rath," early.

91. Up to the hollowness of the seventh sphere: pa.s.sing up through the hollowness or concavity of the spheres, which all revolve round each other and are all contained by G.o.d (see note 5 to the a.s.sembly of Fowls), the soul of Troilus, looking downward, beholds the converse or convex side of the spheres which it has traversed.

92. Sorted: allotted; from Latin, "sors," lot, fortune.

93. Rascaille: rabble; French, "racaille" -- a mob or mult.i.tude, the riff-raff; so Spencer speaks of the "rascal routs" of inferior combatants.

94. John Gower, the poet, a contemporary and friend of Chaucer's; author, among other works, of the "Confessio Amantis." See note 1 to the Man of Law's Tale.

95. Strode was an eminent scholar of Merton College, Oxford, and tutor to Chaucer's son Lewis.

96. Explicit Liber Troili et Cresseidis: "The end of the book of Troilus and Cressida."

CHAUCER'S DREAM.

[This pretty allegory, or rather conceit, containing one or two pa.s.sages that for vividness and for delicacy yield to nothing in the whole range of Chaucer's poetry, had never been printed before the year 1597, when it was included in the edition of Speght. Before that date, indeed, a Dream of Chaucer had been printed; but the poem so described was in reality "The Book of the d.u.c.h.ess; or the Death of Blanche, d.u.c.h.ess of Lancaster" -- which is not included in the present edition. Speght says that "This Dream, devised by Chaucer, seemeth to be a covert report of the marriage of John of Gaunt, the King's son, with Blanche, the daughter of Henry, Duke of Lancaster; who after long love (during the time whereof the poet feigneth them to be dead) were in the end, by consent of friends, happily married; figured by a bird bringing in his bill an herb, which restored them to life again. Here also is showed Chaucer's match with a certain gentlewoman, who, although she was a stranger, was, notwithstanding, so well liked and loved of the Lady Blanche and her Lord, as Chaucer himself also was, that gladly they concluded a marriage between them." John of Gaunt, at the age of nineteen, and while yet Earl of Richmond, was married to the Lady Blanche at Reading in May 1359; Chaucer, then a prisoner in France, probably did not return to England till peace was concluded in the following year; so that his marriage to Philippa Roet, the sister of the d.u.c.h.ess Blanche's favourite attendant Katharine Roet, could not have taken place till some time after that of the Duke. In the poem, it is represented to have immediately followed; but no consequence need be attached to that statement. Enough that it followed at no great interval of time; and that the intimate relations which Chaucer had already begun to form with John of Gaunt, might well warrant him in writing this poem on the occasion of the Duke's marriage, and in weaving his own love-fortunes with those of the princ.i.p.al figures. In the necessary abridgement of the poem for the present edition, the subsidiary branch of the allegory, relating to the poet's own love affair, has been so far as possible separated from the main branch, which shadows forth the fortunes of John and Blanche. The poem, in full, contains, with an "Envoy"

arbitrarily appended, 2233 lines; of which 510 are given here.]

(Transcriber's note: modern scholars believe that Chaucer was not the author of this poem)

WHEN Flora, the queen of pleasance, Had wholly *achiev'd the obeisance* *won the obedience*

Of the fresh and the new season, Thorough ev'ry region; And with her mantle *whole covert* *wholly covered*

What winter had *made discovert,* -- *stripped*

On a May night, the poet lay alone, thinking of his lady, and all her beauty; and, falling asleep, he dreamed that he was in an island

Where wall, and gate, was all of gla.s.s, And so was closed round about, That leaveless* none came in nor out; *without permission Uncouth and strange to behold; For ev'ry gate, of fine gold, A thousand fanes,* ay turning, *vanes, weatherc.o.c.ks Entuned* had, and birds singing *contrived so as to emit Diversely, on each fane a pair, a musical sound With open mouth, against the air; <1> And *of a suit* were all the tow'rs, *of the same plan*

Subtilly *carven aft* flow'rs *carved to represent*

Of uncouth colours, *during ay,* *lasting forever*

That never be none seen in May, With many a small turret high; But man alive I could not sigh,* *see Nor creatures, save ladies play,* *disporting themselves Which were such of their array, That, as me thought, *of goodlihead* *for comeliness*

They pa.s.sed all, and womanhead.

For to behold them dance and sing, It seemed like none earthly thing;

And all were of the same age, save one; who was advanced in years, though no less gay in demeanour than the rest. While he stood admiring the richness and beauty of the place, and the fairness of the ladies, which had the notable gift of enduring unimpaired till death, the poet was accosted by the old lady, to whom he had to yield himself prisoner; because the ordinance of the isle was, that no man should dwell there; and the ladies' fear of breaking the law was enhanced by the temporary absence of their queen from the realm. Just at this moment the cry was raised that the queen came; all the ladies hastened to meet her; and soon the poet saw her approach -- but in her company his mistress, wearing the same garb, and a seemly knight. All the ladies wondered greatly at this; and the queen explained:

"My sisters, how it hath befall,* *befallen I trow ye know it one and all, That of long time here have I been Within this isle biding as queen, Living at ease, that never wight More perfect joye have not might; And to you been of governance Such as you found in whole pleasance, <2> In every thing as ye know, After our custom and our law; Which how they firste founded were, I trow ye wot all the mannere.

And who the queen is of this isle, -- As I have been this longe while, -- Each seven years must, of usage, Visit the heav'nly hermitage, Which on a rock so highe stands, In a strange sea, out from all lands, That for to make the pilgrimage Is call'd a perilous voyage; For if the wind be not good friend, The journey dureth to the end Of him which that it undertakes; Of twenty thousand not one scapes.

Upon which rock groweth a tree, That certain years bears apples three; Which three apples whoso may have, Is *from all displeasance y-save* *safe from all pain*

That in the seven years may fall; This wot you well, both one and all.

For the first apple and the hext,* *highest <3> Which groweth unto you the next, Hath three virtues notable, And keepeth youth ay durable, Beauty, and looks, ever-in-one,* *continually And is the best of ev'ry one.

The second apple, red and green, Only with lookes of your eyne, You nourishes in great pleasance, Better than partridge or fesaunce,* *pheasant And feedeth ev'ry living wight Pleasantly, only with the sight.

And the third apple of the three, Which groweth lowest on the tree, Whoso it beareth may not fail* *miss, fail to obtain That* to his pleasance may avail. *that which So your pleasure and beauty rich, Your during youth ever y-lich,* *alike Your truth, your cunning,* and your weal, *knowledge Hath flower'd ay, and your good heal, Without sickness or displeasance, Or thing that to you was noyance.* *offence, injury So that you have as G.o.ddesses Lived above all princesses.

Now is befall'n, as ye may see; To gather these said apples three, I have not fail'd, against the day, Thitherward to take the way, *Weening to speed* as I had oft. *expecting to succeed*

But when I came, I found aloft My sister, which that hero stands, Having those apples in her hands, Advising* them, and nothing said, *regarding, gazing on But look'd as she were *well apaid:* *satisfied*

And as I stood her to behold, Thinking how my joys were cold, Since I these apples *have not might,* *might not have*

Even with that so came this knight, And in his arms, of me unware, Me took, and to his s.h.i.+p me bare, And said, though him I ne'er had seen, Yet had I long his lady been; Wherefore I shoulde with him wend, And he would, to his life's end, My servant be; and gan to sing, As one that had won a rich thing.

Then were my spirits from me gone, So suddenly every one, That in me appear'd but death, For I felt neither life nor breath, Nor good nor harme none I knew, The sudden pain me was so new, That *had not the hasty grace be* *had it not been for the Of this lady, that from the tree prompt kindness*

Of her gentleness so bled,* *hastened Me to comforten, I had died; And of her three apples she one Into mine hand there put anon, Which brought again my mind and breath, And me recover'd from the death.

Wherefore to her so am I hold,* *beholden, obliged That for her all things do I wo'ld, For she was leach* of all my smart, *physician And from great pain so quit* my heart. *delivered And as G.o.d wot, right as ye hear, Me to comfort with friendly cheer, She did her prowess and her might.

And truly eke so did this knight, In that he could; and often said, That of my woe he was *ill paid,* *distressed, ill-pleased*

And curs'd the s.h.i.+p that him there brought, The mast, the master that it wrought.

And, as each thing must have an end, My sister here, our bother friend, <4> Gan with her words so womanly This knight entreat, and cunningly, For mine honour and hers also, And said that with her we should go Both in her s.h.i.+p, where she was brought, Which was so wonderfully wrought, So clean, so rich, and so array'd, That we were both content and paid;* *satisfied And me to comfort and to please, And my heart for to put at ease, She took great pain in little while, And thus hath brought us to this isle As ye may see; wherefore each one I pray you thank her one and one, As heartily as ye can devise, Or imagine in any wise."

At once there then men mighte see'n, A world of ladies fall on kneen Before my lady, --

Thanking her, and placing themselves at her commandment.

Then the queen sent the aged lady to the knight, to learn of him why he had done her all this woe; and when the messenger had discharged her mission, telling the knight that in the general opinion he had done amiss, he fell down suddenly as if dead for sorrow and repentance. Only with great difficulty, by the queen herself, was he restored to consciousness and comfort; but though she spoke kind and hope-inspiring words, her heart was not in her speech,

For her intent was, to his barge Him for to bring against the eve, With certain ladies, and take leave, And pray him, of his gentleness, To *suffer her* thenceforth in peace, *let her dwell*

As other princes had before; And from thenceforth, for evermore, She would him wors.h.i.+p in all wise That gentlenesse might devise; And *pain her* wholly to fulfil, *make her utmost efforts*

In honour, his pleasure and will.

And during thus this knighte's woe, -- Present* the queen and other mo', *(there being) present*

My lady and many another wight, -- Ten thousand s.h.i.+ppes at a sight I saw come o'er the wavy flood, With sail and oar; that, as I stood Them to behold, I gan marvail From whom might come so many a sail; For, since the time that I was born, Such a navy therebeforn Had I not seen, nor so array'd, That for the sight my hearte play'd Ay to and fro within my breast; For joy long was ere it would rest.

For there were sailes *full of flow'rs;* *embroidered with flowers*

After, castles with huge tow'rs, <5> Seeming full of armes bright, That wond'rous l.u.s.ty* was the sight; *pleasant With large tops, and mastes long, Richly depaint' and *rear'd among.* *raised among them*

At certain times gan repair Smalle birdes down from the air, And on the s.h.i.+ppes' bounds* about *bulwarks Sat and sang, with voice full out, Ballads and lays right joyously, As they could in their harmony.

The ladies were alarmed and sorrow-stricken at sight of the s.h.i.+ps, thinking that the knight's companions were on board; and they went towards the walls of the isle, to shut the gates. But it was Cupid who came; and he had already landed, and marched straight to the place where the knight lay. Then he chid the queen for her unkindness to his servant; shot an arrow into her heart; and pa.s.sed through the crowd, until he found the poet's lady, whom he saluted and complimented, urging her to have pity on him that loved her. While the poet, standing apart, was revolving all this in his mind, and resolving truly to serve his lady, he saw the queen advance to Cupid, with a pet.i.tion in which she besought forgiveness of past offences, and promised continual and zealous service till her death. Cupid smiled, and said that he would be king within that island, his new conquest; then, after long conference with the queen, he called a council for the morrow, of all who chose to wear his colours. In the morning, such was the press of ladies, that scarcely could standing-room be found in all the plain. Cupid presided; and one of his counsellors addressed the mighty crowd, promising that ere his departure his lord should bring to an agreement all the parties there present. Then Cupid gave to the knight and the dreamer each his lady; promised his favour to all the others in that place who would truly and busily serve in love; and at evening took his departure. Next morning, having declined the proffered sovereignty of the island, the poet's mistress also embarked, leaving him behind; but he dashed through the waves, was drawn on board her s.h.i.+p from peril of death, and graciously received into his lady's lasting favour. Here the poet awakes, finding his cheeks and body all wet with tears; and, removing into another chamber, to rest more in peace, he falls asleep anew, and continues the dream. Again he is within the island, where the knight and all the ladies are a.s.sembled on a green, and it is resolved by the a.s.sembly, not only that the knight shall be their king, but that every lady there shall be wedded also. It is determined that the knight shall depart that very day, and return, within ten days, with such a host of Benedicts, that none in the isle need lack husbands. The knight

Anon into a little barge Brought was, late against an eve, Where of all he took his leave.

Which barge was, as a man thought, Aft* his pleasure to him brought; *according to*

The queen herself accustom'd ay In the same barge to play.* *take her sport It needed neither mast nor rother* *rudder (I have not heard of such another), Nor master for the governance;* *steering It sailed by thought and pleasance, Withoute labour, east and west; All was one, calm or tempest. <6> And I went with, at his request, And was the first pray'd to the feast.* *the bridal feast When he came unto his country, And pa.s.sed had the wavy sea, In a haven deep and large He left his rich and n.o.ble barge, And to the court, shortly to tell, He went, where he was wont to dwell, --

And was gladly received as king by the estates of the land; for during his absence his father, "old, and wise, and h.o.a.r," had died, commending to their fidelity his absent son. The prince related to the estates his journey, and his success in finding the princess in quest of whom he had gone seven years before; and said that he must have sixty thousand guests at his marriage feast. The lords gladly guaranteed the number within the set time; but afterwards they found that fifteen days must be spent in the necessary preparations. Between shame and sorrow, the prince, thus compelled to break his faith, took to his bed, and, in wailing and self-reproach,

-- Endur'd the days fifteen, Till that the lords, on an evene,* *evening Him came and told they ready were, And showed in few wordes there, How and what wise they had *purvey'd *provided suitably For his estate,* and to him said, to his rank*

That twenty thousand knights of name, And forty thousand without blame, Alle come of n.o.ble ligne* *line, lineage Together in a company Were lodged on a river's side, Him and his pleasure there t'abide.

The prince then for joy uprose, And, where they lodged were, he goes, Withoute more, that same night, And there his supper *made to dight;* *had prepared*

And with them bode* till it was day. *abode, waited*

And forthwith to take his journey, Leaving the strait, holding the large, Till he came to his n.o.ble barge: And when the prince, this l.u.s.ty knight, With his people in armes bright, Was come where he thought to pa.s.s,* *cross to the isle And knew well none abiding was Behind, but all were there present, Forthwith anon all his intent He told them there, and made his cries* *proclamation Thorough his hoste that day twice, Commanding ev'ry living wight There being present in his sight, To be the morrow on the rivage,* *sh.o.r.e There he begin would his voyage.

The morrow come, the *cry was kept* *proclamation was obeyed*